VST REDEMPTION 



A DRAMA IN POUR ACTS 



GEORGE M. BAKER. 



This play is protected by law, and can only be performed by 
special arrangement with the author. 



BOSTON: 
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY. 

1875- 



PAST REDEMPTION. 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 



BY 



GEORGE M. BAKER. 



This play is protected by law, and can only be performed by 
special arrangement with the author. 



/ COPYRIGHT "^/i;, 
■ 1875 ^ , a^ 



BOSTON: 
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY. 

1875- 



COSTUMES. 



COSTUMES. 

Johfi Mayriard. Act I. Mixed pants and vest, blue striped shirt, collar rolled 
over vest, without necktie, straw hat, bald gray wig, heavy gray sid&-whiskers. 
Act II. and IV. Add a dark coat. 

Harry Maynard. Act I. Neat gray suit, with game-bag, felt hat, leggings, 
Act III. White shirt without collar, rusty black pants, and coat out at elbows, 
unshorn face, hollow eyes. Act IV. Light pants, dark vest and coat, with 
white overcoat, high-colored handkerchief thrown about the neck, felt hat. 

Robert Thor7iton. Act I. Light gray suit, leggings, game-bag, felt hat, heavy 
watch-chain, and full black beard and moustache. Act II. Handsome black suit, 
black hat, light overcoat on his arm. Act III. Fashionable suit, with a liberal 
display of jewelry. Act IV. Dirty black pants, torn at the knee, white shirt, 
soiled and ragged, showing a red shirt beneath ; rough grizzled beard and wig ; 
pale and haggard ; dark, ragged coat. 

Tom Larcovi. Act I. and II. Rough farmer's suit. Act III. Flashy mixed 
suit, false moustache and chin-whiskers. Act IV. Neat suit with overcoat and 
felt hat. 

Nat Harlow. Neat mixed business suit ; a little dandified. 

Hanks and Hiiskers. Farmer's rough suits. 

Cajit. Bragg. Dark pants, white vest, blue coat with brass buttons, military 
stock and dickey ; tall felt hat ; bald gray wig, and military whiskers. 

Murdoch. Fashionable dress. 

Daley. Dark pants and vest, white apron, sleeves rolled up, no coat. 

Stjib. Act I. Gray pants, blue striped shirt. Act III. Dark pants, white vest, 
red necktie, standing collar, black hat, short black coat. Acts II. and IV. Same 
as first with the addition of a coat. 

Mrs. Maynard. Acts I. and II. Cheap calico dress. Act IV. Brown dress, 
with white apron, collar and cuffs. Gray wig for all. 

Charity, age about thirty-five. Act II. Pretty muslin dress, with a wliite 
apron, tastefully trimmed, lace cap, light wig. Act III. .Gray dress handsomely 
trimmed, gray waterproof cloak. Act III. Dark travelling dress, handsome 
cloak and hat. 

Jessie. Act I. Muslin dress, with collar and cuffs. Act II. Something of 
the same kind. Act III. Handsome dress of light color. Act IV. Gray travel- 
ling dress, with cloak and hat. 

Kitty. Act I. Light muslin dress. Act II. Something of the same kind- 
Act IV. Red dress, white collar and cuffs, shawl and hat. 

Choms of Ladies for Act III. Dark and light dresses, with "clouds" of dif- 
ferent colors about their heads. 



PAST REDEMPTION. 

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 



Act I. — A Husking at the Old Home. 

Scene. — A barn. Inflate large door to roll back l., closed; 
above door, hay-mow, practicable staging, loose hay piled 
upon it J over that, window, through which moonbe,a7ns 
stream, l., stalls with harness suspended from pegs, hetich 
on which are two basins and towels, r., biiis, above stalls 
and bins, R. and l., hay-mow with hay {painted). R. c, 

two bejiches thus : d ^^►c, on which are seated A. 

Tom Larcom, b. Nat Harlow, and between them four 
farmers, three girls; another girl standing c. ; beside her 
071 floor, kneeling, a farmer picks up the husks thrown 
by the huskers, and puts them in- a basket. A small pile of 
corn, D., which the occupants of the benches are at work 
on, throwing i/ie corn into bins, R. ; the husks behind. Just 
back of B, Hanks seated on a barrel with violift playing, 
'■'- In the sweet by and by.'''' Stub leaning against wing, 
L., I E. listening; stool K., i e. ; red lante?'nslmng k. and 
L. , red light from footlights. Hanks plays the air 
through during the rising of curtain. 

Stub. Golly! hear dat now, will you? D-d-dat what I 
call music in de har, fur it jes make my har stan' on end, 
yes, it does. And I feel — I feel jes as dough I was skew- 
ered onto dat ar fiddle-bow, an' bein' drawed frou a sea ob 
bilin' merlasses. Golly, so sweet ! 

Nat. There's a first-class puff for you. Hanks, from the 
mouth of a critic — with a black border. 



6 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Tom. You do beat all nater, Hanks, with the fiddle; 
your hand is as cute, and your ear as fine, as though the one 
had never held a plough, or the other hstened to the jingling 
of a cowbell. Talk of your genuses. Give me the chap 
that's a Jack at any thing, from digging ninety tater-hills 
afore breakfast, to sparking a pretty girl at 'leven o'clock 
on a starlight night. 

Stub. Wid de ole man comin' roun' de comer ob de 
house wid a double-barrel rebolver, " You scoot or I 
shoot." Don't forget de embellishments, Tom Larcom. 
(.All laugh) 

Nat. Ha, ha! had you there, Tom. 

Tom. What are you laughing at? If old Conim mis- 
took me for a prowler one night, am I to blame ? 

Stub. Coorse not, coorse not, when you didn't stop to 
'lucidate, but jumped de fence and scooted down de road 
hollering " Mm-der ! " {Laugh) 

Tom {fiingin^ an ear of corn at Stub). A little more 
ear and less tongue, Stub. 

Stub {ducking his head). Don't waste de fodder. Had 
ear enough dat night. Golly ! jes woke de whole neighbor- 
hood. 

Tom. Ah ! the course of true love never did run smooth. 

Stub. By golly! you — you found it pretty smoove run- 
nin' dat night. 

Tom {threatening Stub). Will you be quiet ? 
• Stub. Ob coorse. Don't waste de fodder. 

Nat. Ah, Tom, Nature never cut you out for a lover. 

Tom. P'r'aps not; but I've got art enough to cut you 
out, Nat, if you do make up to my property, Kitty Corum. 
{Enter Kitty, r., overhearing last words) 

KiTTY.^ Indeed! Your property! I like that. And 
when, pray, did you come into possession? 

Tom. That's for you to say, Kitty. I'm an expectant 
heir as yet. Don't forget me in your will, Kitty. 

Nat. Don't write your will in his favor. 

Kitty. " when a woman walls she wills : depend on't ; 

And when she won't she won't, and there's the end on't" 

Tom {sings). " If I could write my title clear." 
Nat. Give me the title, Kitty. 

Tom. I'd give you a title — Counter-jumper, Yardstick; 
that's about your measure. You talk about titles; why, 



PAST REDEMPTION. f 

all you are good for is to measure tape and ribbons, cut 
"nigger-head," shovel sugar, and peddle herrings for old 
Gleason. Bah ! I smell soap now. 

Nat {jumping up). You just step outside, and you shall 
smell brimstone, and find your measure on the turf, Tom 
Larcom. 

Kitty. There, there, stop that ! I'll have no quarrelling. 
Supper's nearly ready, and the corn not finished. 

Tom. We'll be ready for the supper, Kitty. If I could 
only find a red ear. 

Kitty. And if you could ? 

Tom. J should make an impression on those red lips of 
yours that would astonish you. 

Kitty. Indeed ! It would astonish me more if you had 
the chance. {Laugh.) But where's Harry Maynard ? 

Tom. Off gunning with Mr. Thornton. He said he'd be 
back in time for the husking : they must have lost their way. 

Kitty. His last night at home, too. 

Stub. Yas, indeed. Off in de mornin', afore de broke 
ob day. I's gwine to drive dem ober to de steam-jine sta- 
tion. Miss Jennie gwine to see him off; 'spect she'll jes cry 
her eyes out comin' home. 

Tom. Well, I can't see the use of Harry Maynard's 
trottin' off to the city with this Mr. Thornton. Let well 
enough alone, say I. Here's a good farm, and a smart, 
pretty girl ready to share life with him ; and yet off he goes 
to take risks in something he knows nothing about. 

Kitty. Don't say a word against Mr. Thornton ; he's 
just splendid. 

Chorus of Girls. Oh, elegant ! 

Tom. There it is ! Vanity and vexation ! here's a man 
old enough to be your father. Comes up here in his fine 
clothes, with a big watch-chain across his chest, and a seal 
ring on his finger, and you girls are dead in love with him at 
first sight. 

Kitty. Tom, you're jealous. Harry Maynard is not 
content to settle down here ; he wants to see the world, and 
I like his spunk. If I was a man /would get the polish of 
city life. 

Stub. So would I, so would I. Yas, indeed; get de 
polish down dar. Look at Joe Trash ; he went down dar, 
he did. New suit ob store clo's onto him, and forty dollars 
in his calf-skin. He come back in" free days polished right 
out ob his boots. 



8 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Tom. Well, I s'pose it's out of fashion not to like this 
Thornton, but there's something in the twist of his waxed- 
end mustache, and the roll of his eye, that makes me feel 
bad for Harry. 

Kitty. You needn't fear for Harry. He won't eat him. 

Stub. No, sir, he's not a connubial : he's a gemblum. 

Tom. Ah ! here's the last ear, and, by jingo ! it's a red 
one. 

Chorus. Good for you, Tom ! good for you ! 

Nat. I'll give you a dollar for your chance. 

Tom. No, you don't, Nat; I'm in luck. — Now, Kitty, I 
claim the privilege. A kiss for the finder of the red ear. 
{All rise) 

Kitty. Not from me, saucebox. 

Nat. Run, Kitty, run ! (Kitty rims in and out among 
the huskers, Tom ifi pursuit.) 

Tom. It's no use, Kitty; you can't escape me. {She 
runs down r. corner ; as Tom is about to seize her, she 
stoops, and ru7is across stage, catches Stub by the arms, and 
whirls him round. Tom, in pursuit, clasps Stub 2« his 
arms) 

Stub. " I'd offer thee dis cheek ob mine." If you want 
a smack take it. I won't struggle. 

Tom {strikes his face with hand). How's that for a 
smack ? 

Stub. Dat's de hand widout de heart : takes all de 
bloom out ob my complexion. {Goes across stage holding 
on to his face, and exits R. Kitty runs through crowd 
agaijt, comes R.. Tom /;/ pursuit.) 

Tom. It's no use, Kitty: you must pay tribute. 

Kitty. Never, never! {Runs across to l., and then up 
stage to back. Door opens, and enter Harry Maynard 
and Thornton, equipped with guns and game-bags j Kitty 
ru7is into Harry's ar7ns.) 

Harry. Hallo ! just in time. You've the red ear, Tom, 
so, as your friend, I'll collect the tribute. {Kisses Kitty.) 

Kitty {screams). How dare you, Harry Maynard ! 

Tom. Yes, Harry Maynard, how dare you ? 

(Thornton, Harry, Kitty, Tom, atid Nat co7ne down; 
others carry back the beiiches, and clear the stage; then co7i- 
verse i7i groups at back.) 

Harry. Don't scold, Tom. It's the first game that has 
crossed my path to-day: the first shot I've made. So the 



PAST REDEMPTION. 9 

corn is husked, and I not here to share your work. We've 
had a long tramp, and lost our way {goes to R. with Thorn- 
ton ; they divest themselves of their bags, and lean their 
guns against bin, 2d.^nt ranee.) 

Tom (l. c). Empty bags ! Well, you are smart gunners : 
not even a rabbit. 

Harry (r. c. Thornton sits on stool, r.). No, Tom; 
they were particularly shy to-day, so I had to content myself 
with a deer, your dear, Tom. {All laugh j Nat, l., very 
loud, Tom tlireatening hini>) 

Kitty (c). His dear, indeed! I'll have you to under- 
stand I'm not to be made game of. 

Harry. No, dear, no one shall make game of you; but 
keep a sharp lookout, for there's a keen hunter on the track, 
and when Tom Larcom flings the matrimonial noose — 

Kitty. He may be as lucky as you have been to-day, 
and return empty-handed. 

Tom. Don't say that, Kitty; haven't I been your de- 
voted — 

Kitty. Fiddlesticks ! {pushes him back, and comes to l. 
c.) If there is any thing I hate, it's sparking before com- 
pany. 

Nat (l.). And there's where you're right, Kitty. As 
much as I love you, I would never dare to be so outspoken 
before company. 

Tom. Oh, you're a smart one, you are ! {Enter Stub, r.) 

Stub. Supper's onto de table, and Miss Maynard, she 
says, says she, you're to come right into de kitchen, eat all 
you like, drink all you like, an' smash all de dishes if you 
like ; an' dere's fourteen kinds ob pies, an' turnobers, an' 
turn-unders, an' cold chii^.^en, an' — an' — cheese — 

Harry. That will do, Stub. My good mother is a boun- 
tiful provider, and needs no herald. So, neighbors, take 
your partners ; Hanks will give you a march, and Mr. 
Thornton and I will join you as soon as we have removed 
the marks of the forlorn chase. 

Stub. Yas, Massa Hanks, strike up a march: some- 
thing lively. Dead march in Saul ; dat's fus rate. 

Tom (c). Kitty, shall I have the pleasure ? {Offers his 
left arm to Kitty.) 

Nat (l.). Miss Corum, shall I have the honor ? {Offers 
his right arin to Kitty.) 

Kitty {between the7n, looks at each one, turns up her 



lO PAST REDEMPTION. 

nose at Tom, a7td takes Nat's arm). Thank you, Mr. 
Harlow. I'll intrust th.\s property to you. 

Nat. For life, Kitty ? 

Kitty. On a short lease. {They go*up efface audience; 
others pair ^ and fall in behind them.) 

Tom (c). Cut, — a decided cut. I must lay in wait for 
Yardstick when this breaks up, and I think he will need 
about a pound of beefsteak for his eyes in the morning. 
{Goes L. and leans dejectedly against 'wi7ig. Music strikes 
up., the march is 7nade across stage once., and off R., Stub 
strut ti7ig behi7id.) 

Harry {crosses l.). Why, Tom, don't you go in? 

Tom. Certainly. Come, Hanks. {Goes over to ^\a.-^v^s,) 
They'll want your music in there, and I'm just in tune to 
play second fiddle. {They exeitnt R., arm i7t ar77t.) 

Harry {goes to bench l., a7id washes ha7ids). Now, Mr, 
Thornton, for a wash, and then we'll join them; (Thornton 
keeps his seat in a thoughtful attitude. Harry comes 
down.) Hallo! what's the matter .? Homesick.'* 

Thornton {laughs). Not exactly; but there's some- 
thing in this old barn, these merry huskers, this careless 
happy life you farmers lead, has stirred up old memories, 
until I was on the point of breaking out with that melancholy 
song, " Oh, would I were a boy again ! " 

Harry. Now, don't be melancholy. That won't chime 
with the dear old place ; for, though it has not been free 
from trouble, we drive all care away with willing hands and 
cheerful hearts. 

Thornton. It is a cheery old place, and so reminds 
me of one I knew when I was young ; for, like you, I was a 
farmer's boy. 

Harry. Indeed ! you never told me that. 

Thornton. No : for 'tis no fond recollection to me, and 
I seldom refer to it. I did not take kindly to it, so early 
forsook a country life for the stir and bustle of crowded 
cities. But, when one has reached the age of forty, 'tis 
time to look back. 

Harry. Not with regret, I trust: for you tell me you 
have acquired wealth in mercantile pursuits, and so pictured 
the busy life of the city, that I am impatient to carve my 
fortune there. 

Thornton. And you are right. The strong-armed, 
clear-brained wanderers from the country carry off the grand 



PAST REDEMPTION. II 

prizes there. You are ambitious : you shall rise ; and, when 
you are forty, revisit tliese scenes-, a man of wealth and 
influence. 

Harry. Ah, Mr. Thornton, when one has a friend like 
you to lead the way, success is certain. I am proud of your 
friendship, and thankfully place my future in your keeping. 

Thornton. That shows keen wit at the outset. Trust 
me, and you shall win. {Rises.) But I am keeping you 
from your friends, and I know a pair of bright eyes are 
anxiously looking for you. {Goes to bench, and washes haiids) 

Jessie {outside l., sings), — 

" In the ^eet by and by, 
We shall meet on that beautiful shore," &c. 

Harry. Ah! my "sweet by and by" is close at hand. 
{Enter Jessie, r., with pail.) 

Jessie. O you truant! {Runs to him) Now, don't 
flatter yourself that I came in search of you. Do you see 
this pail ? this is my excuse. 

Harry. *Tis an empty one, Jessie. I am very sorry 
you have been anxious on my account; but I'm all ready, 
so let's in to supper. 

Jessie. Not so fast, sir: the pail must be filled. I'm 
going for milk. 

Harry. Then "I'll go with you, 'my pretty maid." — 
You'll excuse me a moment, Mr. Thornton. 

Jessie. Mr. Thornton! — Dear me, I didn't see you! 
Good evening. 

Thornton. Good evening. Miss Jessie, 

Jessie. Are you very, very hungry? 

Thornton. Oh, ravenous ! • 

Jessie. Then don't wait, but hurry in, or I won't be 
responsible for your supper: huskers are such a hungry 
set. — Come, Harry. 

JIarry. Don't wait, Mr. Thornton: it takes a long 
time to get the, milk ; don't it, Jessie ? 

Jessie. Not unless you tease me — but you always do. 

Harry. Of course, I couldn't help it; and tease and 
milk go well together. {Exeunt Jessie and Harry, l. 
Thornton stands c. looking after them) 

Thornton. Yes, yes, 'tis a cheery old place. Pity the 
storm should ever beat upon it ; pity that dark clouds should 
ever obscure its brightness ; yet they will come. For the 



12 PAST REDEMPTION. 

first time in a life of passion and change, this rural beauty 
Jias stirred my heart with a longing it never felt before. I 
cannot analyze it. The sound of her voice thrills me ; the 
sight of her face fascinates me ; the touch of her hand 
maddens me ; and, with it all, the shadow of some long-for- 
gotten presence mystifies me. This must be love. For 
I would dare all, sacrifice all, to make her mine. She is be- 
trothed to him. He must be taken from her side, made un- 
worthy of her, made to forget her. The task is easy to one 
skilled in the arts of temptation. Once free, her heart may 
be turned towards me. 'Tis a long chase : no wonder I am 
melancholy, Harry Maynard; but there's a keen, patient 
hunter on the track, who never fails, n^ver. {Enter John 
Maynard, r.) 

John Maynard. Well, well, here's hospitahty: here's 
hospitality with a vengeance. That rascal Harry has de- 
serted you, has he ? — 3-ou, our honored guest. It's too bad, 
too bad. 

Thornton. Don't- give yourself any uneasiness about 
me, old friend. Harry has left me a moment to escort a 
young lady. 

* Maynard. Ah, yes, I understand : Jessie, our Jessie, 
the witch that brings us all under her spells. No wonder 
the boy forgot his manners ; but to desert you — 

Thornton. Don't speak of desertion ; you forget I am 
one of the family. 

.Maynard. I wish you were with all my heart. I like 
you, Mr. Thornton. I flatter myself I know a gentleman, 
when I meet him. You came up here, looked over my 
stock, and bought my horses at my own price, no beating 
down, no haggling; and I said to myself. He's a gentleman, 
for gentlemen never haggle. So I say I like you {gives his 
ha7id\ and that's something to remember, for John May- 
nard don't take kindly to strangers. 

Thornton. I trust I shall always merit your good 
opinion. ^ * 

Maynard. Of course you will ; you can't help it. 
There's our Harry just raves about you, and you've taken a 
fancy to him. I like you for^that too." Then you are going 
to take him away, and show- him the way to fortune by your 
high pressure, bustle and rush, city ways. Not just the notion 
I wanted to get into his head; but he's ambitious, and I'll 
not stand in his way. He's our only boy now. There was 



PAST REDEMPTION. 13 

another ; he went down at the call of his country, a brave, 
noble fellow, and fell among the first; and he died bravely: 
he couldn't help it, for he was a Maynard. But 'twas a hard 
blow to us. It made us lonely here ; and even now, when 
the wind howls round the old house in the cold wmter 
nights, mother and I sit silent in the corner, seeing our boy's 
bright face in the fire, till the tears roll down her cheeks, 
and I — I set my teeth together, and clasp her hands, and 
whisper, He died bravely, mother, — died for his country like 
a hero, — like a hero. 

Thornton. Ah ! 'tis consoling to remember that. 
Maynard. Yes, yes. And now the other, our only boy, 
goes forth to fight another battle, full of temptation and 
danger. Heaven grant him a safe return ! 

Thornton. Amen to that ! But fear not for hmi. I 
have a regard, yes, call it a fatherly regard ; and it shall be 
my duty to guard him among the temptations of the city. 

Maynard. That's kind; that's honest. I knew you 
were a gentleman, and I trust you freely. 

Thornton. You shall have a good account of him ; and 
'twill not be lonely here, for you have a daughter left to 
comfort you. 

Maynard. Our Jessie, bless her! she's a treasure. 
Sixteen years ago, on one of the roughest nights, our 
Harry, then a mere boy, coming up from the village, found 
a poor woman and her babe on the road lying helpless m the 
snow. He brought her here: we recognized her. as the 
dauo-hter of one of our neighbors, a girl who had left home, 
and'^found work in the city. This was her return. Her 
unnatural father shut the door in her face, and she wandered 
about until found by Harry. She lingered through the 
ni<^ht, speechless, and died at sunrise. I sought the lather, 
but he had cast her out of his heart and home ; for he be- 
lieved her to be a wanton. Indignant at his cruelty, I struck 
him down; for I'm mighty quick-tempered, and can't stand a 
mean arcrument. I gave the mother Christian burial, took 
the child to my heart, and love her as if she was my own. 
As for him, public opinion drove him from our village ; and 
her child is loved and honored as he could never hope to be. 
Thornton. And your son will marry her with this 

stain upon her ? . t t i ^i ' 

Maynard. Stain? what stajn? Upon her mothers 
finger was a plain gold ring; and, though the poor thing's 



14 PAST REDEMPTION. 

lips were silent, her eyes wandered to that ring with a mean- 
ing none could fail to guess. She was a deserted wife ; and; 
even had she been all her father thought her, what human 
being has a right to be relentless, when we should forgive 
as we all hope to be forgiven ? But come, here I am chatting 
away like an old maid at a quilting. Come in, and get your 
supper, for you must be hungry : come in, {Exeunt R. 
Enter L., Harry, with his arj7i round Jessie, the pail ijt 
his hand.) 

Harry. Yes, Jessie, 'tis hard to leave you behind; but 
our parting will not be for long. Once fairly embarked in 
my new life, with a fair chance of success before me, I shall 
return to seek my ready helper. 

Jessie. Harry, perhaps you will think me foolish, but I 
tremble at your venture. Why seek new paths to fortune 
when here is all that could make our Hves happy and con- 
tented .'' 

Harry. But it's so slow, Jessie ; and, with the best of 
luck, 1 should be but a plodding farmer. To plough and dig, 
sow and reap, year in and year out, — 'tis a hard life, all 
bone and muscle : to be sure, rugged health and deep sleep ; 
but there is excitement and bustle, quick success and rousing 
fortunes. Ah, Jessie, if one half my schemes work well, 
you shall be a lady, 

Jessie, To be your own true, loving wife, your ever 
ready helper, is all I ask, O Harry, if you should forget 
me in all this bustle ! 

Harry, Forget you? Never : -in all my hopes you are 
the shining light ; in all my air-built castles, which energy 
should make real and substantial ones, you are enthroned 
my queen, 

Jessie. Enthrone me in your heart: let me be an influ- 
ence there, to shield you from temptation, and, come fortune 
or failure, I shall be content. 

Harry. An influence, Jessie : hear my confession. Un- 
known to you, I stood beneath your window last night, as 
you sat looking up at the moon, singing the song I love, " In 
the sweet by and by." I thought how soon we must part, 
and your sweet voice brought tears to my eyes. Jessie, I 
believe, that, were I so weak as to fall beneath temptation, 
in the darkest hour of misery, the remembrance of that 
voice would call me back to you and a better life. 

Jessie. You will not forget me .'' 



PAST REDEMPTION. 1$ 

Harry. Oh, we are getting melancholy. {Smiles.) Why 
should / not fear a rival ? 

Jessie. Now you are jesting, Harry. Do I not owe my 
life to you ? 

Harry. Hush, hush! that is a forbidden subject, and 
all you owe to me has been paid with interest in the gift of 
your true, loving heart. {They pass off, r. Enter Capt. 
Bragg, c.) 

Capt. Bragg. Well, I never — no, never. If Parson 
Broadnose himself, in full black, with all his theological 
prognostications to back him, had said to me, Capt. Bragg, 
did you ever ? I should have fixed my penetrating eyes upon 
him, and answered boldly, No, never. Slighted, absolutely, 
undeniably, unquestionably slighted ! I, Capt. Nathan Bragg, 
distinguished for my martial deportment, my profound 
knowledge, my ready wit, yes, every thing that adds a 
charm to merrymaking; I, ex-commander of that illustrious 
corps, the Lawless Rangers, that rivals the grandest Euro- 
pean regiments in drill and parade, — shghted at a mean, 
contemptible little husking. Fact, by jingo ! But I'm not 
to be slighted : I won't be slighted. I am here to testify my 
profound contempt for a sHght. If John Maynard has a 
husking, and forgets to invite the grand central figure on 
such occasions, it is the duty of the grand central figure to 
overlook the Httle breach of etiquette, and appear to con- 
tribute to the happiness of its fellow townsmen. There is 
an air of gloom about this place, all owing to my absence. 
They're in to supper : I'll join them, to cheer the dull hearts 
and {going R.)— Hallo! guns, guns. {Takes up one.) 
There's a beauty. This reminds me of my warhke days 
at country muster, and the Lawless Rangers. Ah, those 
rangers ! every man with a Roman nose, six feet high, and 
a dead shot: not a man would miss the dead eye at one 
hundred paces, — if he'could help it. Ah ! 1 can see 'em now 
as I gave the order: ready — aim— fire {raising gun atidfir- 
in^ as he speaks) Murder ! the blasted thing was loaded. 
{Drops it, and stao^gers across stage to L., trembling. A fowl 
drops from R., at the shot. Enter R., Mr. Maynard, 
Stub, Harry, Jessie, Tom, ^^^Mrs. Maynard.) 

Maynaed. Who fired that gun? Ah, Capt. Bragg, 
what's the matter ? 

Stub {taking up fowl). Dat ar poor ole rooster am a 
gone goose. Dat's what's de matter. 



l6 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Harry {taking up gim). Captain, have you been med- 
dling with my gun ? 

Mrs. Maynard. Of course he has : he's always med- 
dling. 

Capt. Mrs. Maynard, that's an absurd remark. It's 
all right : one of my surprises. You must know I wanted a 
rooster for to-morrow's dinner. I'm very fond of them: 
there's such a warlike taste about them. And we are 
a little short of roosters ; my last one, being a little belli- 
gerent this morning, walked into Higgins's yard, and en- 
gaged in deadly combat : so deadly that Higgins's fowl was 
stretched a lifeless corse upon the ground: for Bragg's 
roosters always lick, always. But in spite of my earnest 
protest, despite the warlike maxim. Spoils to the victor be- 
long, Higgins shot my rooster and nailed him to his barn 
door like a crow, and his crow was gone. Fact, by jingo. 

Maynard. Yes : but what's that got to do with my 
rooster ? 

Capt. W'ell, I wanted a rooster: so says I to myself, 
Maynard's got plenty, he can spare one just as well as not; 
so I'm come to borrow one. Well, I found you had com- 
pany, and not wishing to disturb you, and seeing a gun 
handy, I singled out my dinner roosting aloft there, raised 
the gun, — you know I'm a dead shot, — shut my eyes — 

Tom. Shut your eyes ! Is tliat one of your dead shot 
tactics .'' 

Capt, Shut one eye, squinted, of course, that's what 
I said, and fired. The result of that shot is before you. 
If you will -examine that fowl, you will find that he is shot 
clean through the neck. 

Stub. He's shot all ober; looks jes for all de world like 
a huckleberry puddin'. 

Maynard. Well, captain, I call this rather a cool pro- 
ceeding. 

Capt. Ah, you flatter me : but coolness is a characteris- 
tic of the Braggs. When I raised that company for the 
war, the Lawless Rangers, I said to those men. Be cool : 
don't let your ardor carry you too far. 

Tom, Yours didn't run you into battle, did it, captain ? 

Capt. I couldn't run anywhere. Just when the call 
came for those men, after I Had prepared them for battle, 
and longed to lead them to the field, rheumatism — in the 
legs too — blasted all my hopes, and left me behind. But 



PAST REDEMPTION. i*j 

my soul was with them, and, if they achieved 'distinction, 
they owed it all to my early teaching — to the Bragg they 
left behind. {Struts up stage) 

John Maynard {to Thornton). Ah ! he's a sly old fox. 

Thornton {tapping his head). A little wrong here. 

Maynard. No, he's a cool, calculating man, but as vain 
as a peacock. 

Capt. {coifiijig down). Sorry I didn't know you had com- 
pany. Wouldn't have intruded for the world. 

Maynard. It's all right, captain. Join us : we were 
expecting you. {To Thornton.) I can say that truly, for 
he's always popping in where he's not wanted. 

Capt. Ah ! thank you. A-husking, I see. What's the 
yield ? 

, Maynard. Excellent. My five-acre lot has given me 
two hundred bushels. That's what I call handsome. 

Capt. Pooh ! you should see my corn. There's nothing 
like Bragg's corn. My three-acre lot gave me three hundred 
bushels, and every other ear was a red one. 

Chorus. Oh ! 

Capt. Fact, by jingo ! (Nat and Kitty entei' r., fol- 
lowed by huskers.) 

Maynard. Come, boys, get ready for the dance. — Moth- 
er, you take, the captain in to supper. 

Mrs. Maynard. Come, captain, you must be hungry. 

Capt. {coming to r.). Thank you, I could feed a bit. But 
don't stir : I can find the table ; and, when I do find it, I 
shall do full justice to your fare, or I am no Bragg. {Exit 
R. Harry 7'olls back the big door, others put out lanterns. 
Moonlight streams upon the floor. Change footlights) 

Thornton {to Jessie). Miss Jessie, shall I have the 
honor of dancing with you ? 

Jessie. Thank you, Mr. Thornton. {Takes his arm, and 
they go up. Nat and Kitty come down c.) 

Nat. Ah, Kitty, now for the dance. Of course you will 
open the ball with me. 

Kitty {hanging on his arm, looks around, and nods to 
Tom ; he comes down on the other side). Did I promise you 
a dance to-night, Mr. Larcom.? 

Tom {sulkily). I believe you did: but I ain't particular. 

Kitty. But I am. 

Nat. Kitty, dance with me. 

Kitty. I shall do just as Mr. Larcom says ; if he does 
not wish me, why — 



1 8 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Tom. Oh, Kitty, you know I do, you know I do ! {Takes 
her arm, and whirls her up sta^e^e. Nat goes over to L., and 
leans against wing watching them.) 

Harry. Nov/, boys, take your partners for Hull's Vic- 
tory. — Come, mother, {Gives Mrs. Maynard his ari7i, and 
goes to door, taking the lead. Tom and Kitty, Thornton 
<z«^ Jessie next, others form in front of thejn. Stub goes 
to L. Dance, HuWs Victory. When Tom and Kitty 
come iii front, Tom talks with Mr. Maynard, who stands 
R., and Kitty makes signs to Nat : he comes over, takes 
her arm, and they go up and off, L. u. e., appearing soon 
after in the loft at back; they sit on the hay, and watch the 
dancing. The dance is continued some time. Stub dancing 
by himself, L. When it is Tom's turn to dance. Stub slips 
into set, and gives his hand. Tom dances a little while 
before finding his mistake ; then pushes Stub back, looks 
round and up, descries Kitty and Nat. Goes off L. u. e. 
Dance goes on. Enter Capt. Bragg, r., with a chicken-bone 
in one hand, and a piece of pie in the other; stands watch- 
ing the dajicers. Tom appears in loft, behind Nat. Nat 
puts his ar7n round Kitty, and is about to kiss her; Tom 
pulls him back upon the hay, and pummels him. 

Nat. Help! Murder! Murder! {Dance stops >j 

Capt. Hallo ! Thieves ! Burglars ! {Seizes the other 
gun, raises it, and fires. Fowl drops from L. Stub picks 
it up; Mr. Maynard seises Captain's arm) 

Stub. Dere's anoder rooster dead shot. 

Capt. Fact, by jingo ! 

Tableau. 

Capt. r. c, with gun raised; Maynard c, with hand 
ongim; Stub l., holding up fowl ; others starting forward 
watcJmig group. Tom has Nat down in the loft with 
fist raised above him. Kitty kneels r. of them, with her 
apron to her face. 

Curtain. 



ACT II. — Past Redemption. 

Exterior of Maynard's far7n-house. House on R. with 
porch covered with vines j fence runtiing across stage at 
backj with gateway c, backed by road and landscape. 
L.C., large tree^ with bench running round its trunk; 
trees l. Time^ sunset. Ettter Tom from L., through 
gate, a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

Tom. The same old errand : chasing that will-o'-wisp, 
Kitty Corum, — she who is known as the girl with two 
strings to her bow ; who has one hand for Tom Larcom and 
another for Nat Harlow, and no heart for either. I'm the 
laughing-stock of the whole neighborhood ; but misery loves 
company, and Nat is in the same box. If she would only 
say No, and have done with it, I believe I should be happy, 
especially if Nat received the "No." She won't let either 
of us go. But she must. To-night I'll speak for the last 
time; I'll pop. If she takes me, well: if not, I'll pop off 
and leave the field to Nat. Luckily I found out she was 
to help Mrs. Maynard to-day. Nat hasn't heard of it, and 
no doubt he's trudging off to old Corum's. Here she comes. 
Lay there, you beauties ! {Puts flowers on bench^ ' Kitty 
will know what that means. {Exit L. Enter Kitty front 
hojise.) 

Kitty. What a nice woman Mrs. Charity Goodall is, to 
be sure ! so graceful and sweet, not a bit Hke her big 
rough brother, John Maynard. But then, she's learned the 
city ways. A widow, poor thing — and not so poor, either ; 
for her husband, when he died, left her a consolation in the 
shape of a very handsome fortune. {Sees flowers.) I de- 
clare, somebody's attentions are really overpowering. No 
matter where I am, either at home or abroad, when night 
comes I always find a bunch of flowers placed in my way. Of 

19 



20 PAST REDEMPTION. 

course these are for me : no one would think of offering 
flowers to Jessie. Poor Jessie ! 'tis eighteen months since 
Harry Maynard left home, and six months^since a line has 
been received from him. Ah, well ! this comes of having 
but one string to your bow.. I manage matters differently. 
(Si'is on bencJu Efiter Nat fi'om l., through gate; steps 
behind tree) Now, I really would like to know who is so 
attentive, so loving, as to send me these pretty flowers. 

Nat {sticks his head round tree^ r.). And can't you 
guess, Kitty '^. 

Kitty {starting). O Nat ! 

Tom {sticks his head out from L. Aside) O Nat! in- 
deed, you owe Nat nothing for flowers. The mean sneak ! 
{Retires) 

Nat \co77ting forward). Now, this is what I call luck, 
Kitty. I heard you were here, and I think I've taken the 
wind out of Tom Larcom's sails to-night. No doubt he's 
tramping off to your house to find nobody at home. Ha, 
ha ! had him there. (Tom creeps oztt, ajid gets behind tree.) 

Kitty. And so I am indebted to you for all these pretty 
flowers. 

Nat. Oh! nevermind the posies, Kitty. I have some- 
thing very serious to say to you to-night. {Sits beside her R.) 

Kitty. Very, very serious, Nat ? 

Nat. As serious, Kitty, as -though I were a prisoner at 
the bar waiting my sentence. 

Tom. Ah ! in that case, there should be a full bench, 
Kitty. {Comes roimd atid sits on bench, L.) 

Nat. The deuce! Tom Larcom, what brought you 
here .^ 

Tom. I came to court ; that is, to see jlistice done you. 

Nat. You be hanged ! 

Tom. Thank you : let that be your fate ; and I'll be 
transported. {Puts his arm round Kitty's neck) 

Kitty. How dare you, Tom Larcom.? {Pushes off his 
arm) 

Tom. It's "neck or nothing" with me to-night, Kitty. 

Nat. Tom, you are taking unfair advantage of me. 

Tom. Am I ? How about Kitty's posies, Nat, that I 
laid upon the b^nch ? 

Kitty. It's you, then, Tom. — O Nat ! how could you? 

Nat. I didn't: I only asked you a conundrum. All's 
fair in love. What's a few flowers, any way ? Why, Kitty, 
smile upon me, and you shall have a garden. 



PAST REDEMPTION. 21 

Tom. Yes, a kitchen garden, with you as the central 
figure, — a cabbage-head. 

Nat. Kitty, you must Hsten to me. I have a serious 
question to ask you. 

Tom. So have I, Kitty. 

Kitty. You too, Tom ? A pair of serious questions ! 
Shall I get out my handkerchief ? 

Nat. Kitty, 1 have sought you for the last time. 

Tom. Thank Heaven ! 

Nat. Perhaps — 

Tom. O, Kitty, give him your blessing, and let him 
depart ! 

Nat. I am on the point of leaving — 

Tom. Good-by, old fellow. You have our fondest wishes 
where'er you go. '"Tis absence makes the heart grow 
fonder" — 

Nat. — Of leaving my fate in your hands. 

Tom. Oh, this is touching ! 

Nat. 'Tis now two years since I commenced paying 
attention to you. 

Kitty. Stop, Nat. This is a serious business : let us 
be exact, — one year and ten months. 

Tom. Correct. I remember it from the circumstance that 
I had, about a month before, singled you out as the object 
of my adoration. 

Nat. " We met by chance." 

Tom. " The usual way." Oh come, Nat, do be original ! 

Nat. I worshipped the very ground you trod on — 

Tom. And I the shoes you trod in: that's one step 
higher. 

Nat. From that time -^ 

Kitty. One year and ten months. 

Nat. From that time I have loved you sincerely, devot- 
edly, and — 

Tom. Etcettery. Same here, Kitty, with a dictionary 
thrown in. 

Nat. You have become very, very dear to me, Kitty. 

Tom. You are enshrined in this bosom, Kitty. 

Nat. Without you, my life would be miserable — a 
desert. 

Tom. And mine without you, Kitty, a Saharah. 

Nat. I have waited long to gain your serious attention, 
to ask you to be my wife, i^ow is the appointed time. 



22 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Tom {takes out watch). Fifteen minutes after seven : the 
very time I appointed. 

Nat. Let me hear my sentence. 

Tom. Put me out of misery. 

Kitty. This is indeed serious. Am I to understand 
that you have both reached that point in courtship when a 
final answer is required .'* 

Nat. That's exactly the point I have reached. 

Tom. It's "going, going, gone " with me. 

Kitty. You will both consider my answer final.'* 

Both. We will. 

Kitty. No quarrelling, no teasing, no appeal? 

Nat. None. {Aside) I'm sure of her. 

Tom. Never. {Aside.) Nat's sacked, certain. 

Kitty. Very well. Your attentions, Mr. Harlow, have 
been very flattering, — your presents handsome. 

Nat. Well, I'm not a bad-looking — 

Kitty. I mean the presents you have bestowed upon 
me, — calicoes of the latest patterns, sweetmeats in great 
varieties, which you, as a shopkeeper, have presented me 
with. 

Tom {aside). At old Gleason's expense. 

Kitty. Of course I value them. But a girl wants the 
man she loves to be a hero : to plunge into rivers to rescue 
drowning men, and all that sort of thing. 

Tom {aside). And Nat can't swim. That's hard on him. 

Kitty. And you, Mr. Larcom, have been equally atten- 
tive. Your gifts — the choicest fruits of your orchard, the 
beautiful flowers nightly laid within my reach — all have a 
touching significance. Still, as I said, a girl looks for some- 
thing higher in the man she loves.- He must be bold — 

Nat {aside). Tom's afraid of his own shadow. He's 
mittened. 

Kitty. Rush into burning houses, stop runaway horses, 
rescue distressed females ; and I am very much afraid 
neither of my devoted admirers can claim the title of hero. 
So, gentlemen, with many thanks for your attentions, I say 
No. 

Nat. No! That is for Tom. 

Tom. No ! You mean Nat. 

Kitty. I mean both. (Nat and Tom look at her, then 
at each othef, then both rise and come front) 

Nat. Tom. 



PAST REDEMPTION. 23 

Tom. Nat. 

Nat. You've got the sack. 

Tom. You've got the mitten. 

Nat. She's a flirt. 

Tom. a coquette. 

Nat. I shall never speak to her again. 

Tom. Henceforth she and I are strangers. {They shake 
hajtds, then turn and go up to her.) 

Both. Kitty ! 

Kitty. Remember, no appeal. {They look at her rue- 
fully^ then come down) 

Nat. Tom, I bear you no ill-will. Are you going my 
way? 

Tom. Nat, you are the best fellow in the world. I'm 
going in to see John Maynard. 

Nat. We shall be friends. 

Tom. In despair, yes. {They shake hands. Nat goes 
up to gate., Tom goes to door r.) 

Nat. Good-by, Kitty. I shall never see you again. I'm 
going across the river. Should any accident happen, look 
kindly upon my remains. {Goes off^ L.) 

Tom. Good-by, Kitty. I'm going in to borrow one of 
John Maynard's razors; they are very sharp. Should I 
happen to cut any thing, don't trouble yourself to call the 
doctor. {Exit into house) 

Kitty. Ha, ha, ha! They'll never trouble me, never. 
They'll be back before I can count ten. One, two, three, 
four, five — (Nat appears!..^ coines to gate. Tom comes 
from house: they see each other, turn and run back.) I 
knew it. The silly noodles ! here they are again. {Enter 
Jessie, from house) Didn't I tell you my answer was 
final ? and here you are again. 

Jessie. Why, Kitty, are you dreaming? 

Kitty {jutnpitig tip). Bless me, Jessie, is that you ? 

Jessie. Have you seen Stub? has he returned from the 
office ? Ah ! here he is. {Enter Stub, l., through gate, de- 
jectedly. Jessie runs up to hijn) O Stub, have you 
brought no letter ? 

Stub. Jes none at all, Miss Jessie ; dat ar' post-officer am 
jes got no heart. I begged an' begged : no use. Squire 
Johnson, he got his arms full, an' Miss Summer's a dozen. 
I tried to steal one, but he jes keep his eye onto me all de 
time. No use, no use. 



24 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Jessie. Oh ! what can have become of him ? 

Stub. Dunno', Miss Jessie. He was jes de bes' feller, 
was Massa Harry; an' now he's gone an' done somfin', I 
know he has. When de cap'n what picked me up in ole 
Virginny, in de war, — when he was a-dying in de horse- 
fiddle, says he to me, says he, Stub, I'm a-gwine ; an' when 
I's'gone, you jes get up Norf. You'll find my brudder 
Harry up dar, an' you jes stick as clus to him as you's stuck 
to me, an' you'll find friends up dar. An' when it was all 
ober, here I come. An', Miss Jessie, I lub Massa Harry 
almos' as much as I did de cap'n ; an' I'd do any ting for him 
an' you, who he lub so dearly. 

Jessie. I know you would. Stub. Heaven only knows 
when he will return to us. If he comes not soon, my heart 
will break. {Weeps ; goes and sits on be?tch.) 

Stub. Pore little lamb! She wants a letter: she shall 
hab one too. Massa Harry won't write : den, by golly, I'll 
jes make up a special mail-train, an' go down dere to de 
city, an' fotch one. It's jes easy 'nuff to slip down dere, 
an' hunt Massa Harry up, an' I'll do it. Say nuffin' to no- 
body, but slip off to-morrow mornin' an' hunt him up. {Exit 

R., I.E.) 

Kitty {comes down frojn gate). Jessie, here's a surprise. 
Mr. Thornton is coming up the road. 

Jessie {springing tip). Mr. Thornton? Heaven be 
praised ! News of Harry at last ! {Runs up to gate, uteets 
Mr. Thornton, takes his hand; they cojne down.) O Mr. 
Thornton! Harry, what of Harry? 

Thornton. Miss Jessie, I am the bearer of bad tidings. 
Would it were otherwise ! 

Jessie. Is he dead? Speak: let me know the worst ; I 
can bear it. 

Thornton. Be quiet, my child. He is not dead ; better 
if he were, for death covers all the evils of a life, — death 
wipes out all disgrace. 

Jessie. Disgrace ? Oh, speak, Mr. Thornton ! why is 
he silent? what misfortune has befallen him? 

Thornton. The worst, Jessie. Perhaps I should hide 
his wretched story from you; but I'm here to tell it to his 
friends, and you are the dearest, the one who trusted him 
as none other can. Jessie, the man you loved has been 
false to you, to all. He has abused the trust I placed in 
hinn. He has become a spendthrift, a libertine, a gambler, 
and a drunkard. 



PAST REDEMPTION. 25 

Jessie. I will not believe it : 'tis false. Harry Maynard 
is too noble. Mr. Thornton, you have been misled, or you 
are not his friend. 

Thornton. I was his friend till he betrayed and robbed 
me. I am his friend no longer. Jessie, you must forget 
him ; he will never return to his old home, his first love. 
He has broken away from my influence : he associates with 
the vilest of the vile, and glories in his shame. 

Jessie. Stop, stop ! I cannot bear it. 

Thorn*ton. Jessie, you know not how it pains me to tell 
you this ; but 'tis better you know the worst. I have striven 
hard to make his path smooth, — to make his way to fortune 
easy, for your sake, Jessie. For I, — yes, Jessie, even in 
this dark hour I must say it, — I love you, as he never could 
love. 

Jessie. You — love — me.'* You! Oh! this is blasphe- 
my at such a time. 

Thornton. I could not help it, Jessie. {Tries to take 
her hand) 

Jessie. Do not touch me. I shall hate you. Leave me. 

Harry, Harry ! are you lost to me forever 1 {Staggers up 
and sits on bench.) 

Thornton {aside). I've broken the ice there. Rather 
rough ; but she'll get over it. Now for old Maynard. I'd 
sooner face a regiment ; but it must be done. {Exit ittto 
house.) 

Kitty {comes down to Jessie). O Jessie, this is terrible ! 

Jessie. Don't speak to me, Kitty: leave me to myself. 

1 know you mean well, but the sound of your voice is terri- 
ble to me. 

Kitty {comes down). Poor thing! Who would have 
believed that Harry Maynard could turn out bad ? I wish I 
could do something to help her. I can, and I will too. 
Oh, here's Tom ! {Enter Tom fro7n house; sees Kitty, 
stops., then sticks his hat on otie side; crosses to L. whistling.) 

Kitty. Tom ! 

Tom {turns). Eh ! did you speak. Miss Corum ? 

Kitty. Yes, I did. Come here — quick — why don't 
you pay attention ? 

Tom. Didn't you forbid any further attention ? 

Kitty. Pshaw ! no more of that ! Do you remember what 
I told you my husband must be ? 

Tom. Yes: a sort of salamander to rush into burning 



26 PAST REDEMPTION. 

houses, an amphibious animal to save people from drown- 
ing. 

Kitty. Ahem ! Tom, to save people : just so. Well, 
Tom, you can be that hero, if you choose. 

Tom. Me? How, pray? 

Kitty. Harry Maynard has got into trouble in the city; 
he's a drunkard and a gambler, and every thing that is bad. 

Tom. You don't mean it ! 

Kitty. It's true. Now, he must be saved, brought 
back here, or Jessie will die. Tom, go and find him, and 
when you come back, I'll sacrifice myself. 

Tom. Sacrifice yourself ? 

Kitty. Yes, marry you. 

Tom. You will consider him found. . O Kitty, Kitty, — 
but hold on a minute. Have you given Nat Harlow a 
chance to be a hero ? 

Kitty. No, Tom: I'm serious now. Find Harry May- 
nard, and you shall be my hero. 

Tom. Hooray, Kitty: tell me all about it I'll be off by 
the next train. Come {gives her his arm\ I can't keep 
still : I must keep moving. {Exeunt l.) 

Jessie. Lost ! lost to me, and I loving him so dearly ! 
You must forget him ! He said forget : it is impossible. 
He loved me so dearly, too, before he left this house in 
search of fortune. No, no : I will not give him up ; there 
must be some way to save him. If I only knew how ! 
O Harry, Harry ! why do you wander from the hearts that 
love you? Come back, come back! {Covers her face and 
weeps. Enter Charity Good all yrc'7« r., through gate.) 

Charity. Oh, this is devious! I've climbed fences, 
torn my way through bushes, and had the most delight- 
ful frolic with Farmer Chips's little Chips on the hay, with 
nobody to check my fun and remind me of the proprieties 
of life. Ha, ha, ha! How my rich neighbor, Mrs. Gold- 
finch, would stare to see me enjoying myself in the coun- 
-try ! Little I care ! I shall go back with a new lease of life, 
a harvest of fresh country air, that will last me through 
the winter. {Sees Jessie.) Hey-day, child, what's the mat- 
ter ? {Sits beside her.) 

Jessie {fli7iging her arms roujid Charity's neck). O 
Aunt Charity! Harry, Harry — 

Charity. Ah ! the truant's heard from at last ; and not 
the most delightful tidings, judging by your tear-stained 
cheeks. Well, child, tell me all about it. 



PAST REDEMPTION. 27 

Jessie. He's lost to us. He has fallen into temptation; 
he's — 

Charity. The old stor3^ "A certain man went down 
unto Jericho, and fell among thieves." 

Jessie. O Aunt Charity, how can you be so heartless \ 

Charity. Heartless, Jessie ! You must not say that. 
You know not my story. Listen to me. One I loved 
dearer than life was ingulfed in this whirlpool. He was a 
brave, noble fellow, who took a poor country girl from her 
home, and made her the mistress of a mansion, rich in 
comfort and luxury. For years our life was one of happi- 
ness ; and then a friend, a false friend, Jessie, led him into 
temptation, with the base hope of securing his riches by 
his ruin. The friend failed to acquire the one, but wrought 
the other. He died ere he had become the wretched sot 
he hoped to make him ; died in my arms, loving and repent- 
ant. I had his fortune, but my life was blighted. I re- 
fused to be comforted until the wretchedness about me 
brought me to my senses. Then I sought in work, strong, 
earnest work, consolation for my bereavement. With his 
wealth, I sought out the wretched, the outcasts of society ; 
gave my aid to all good work, and so earned the title of a 
strong-minded woman. 'Tis often spoken with a sneer, 
that title, Jessie ; but they who bear it have the world's good 
in their heart, thank Heaven for them all ! And so I go about 
doing all I can to relieve distress, the surest solace for sor- 
row, Jessie; for there's nothing so cheering, as relieving the 
wretchedness of others. So don't call me heartless, Jessie. 

Jessie. O Aunt Charity, he was so good ! he loved me 
so dearly ! 

Charity. And he has fallen. Who told you this ? 

Jessie. His friend Mr. Thornton : he is here now, speak- 
ing with father. O dear aunt ! can nothing be done to save 
him? 

Charity. Thornton ? What Thornton ? Speak, Jessie, 
who is he ? 

Jessie. Here comes Mr. Thornton. I will not see him. 
He has spoken to me of love, — ^his love for me, almost in 
the same breath in which he told of Harry's ruin. Oh, let 
me go ! I can not, will not meet him. {Runs offi,.) 

Charity. So, so: the friend of Harry makes love to 
his wife that is to be, and his name is Thornton. I am 
curious to see \\\\% friend. {Enter Thornton fro?n housed 



28 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Thornton. That job's over. Now for Miss Jessie. 
(Charity rises) Charity Goodall ! 

Charity. Yes, Charity Goodall, widow of Mark Good- 
all, your friend, Robert Thornton. 

Thornton {aside). What fiend sent her here to blast 
my well-laid plans ? 

{Capt. Bragg appears R., and leans 07i the fence. He is a 
little tipsy. No Toodles business). 

Charity. So, sir, you are the friend of my nephew, 
Harry Maynard.-* here on a mission of mercy, to break 
gently to his sorrowing friends the news of his downfall .'* 

Thornton. 'Tis tFue. 

Charity. And to console his affianced wife with the 
proffer of your affection. 

Thornton. 'Tis false ! 

Charity. It is the truth. I know you, Robert Thorn- 
ton. Your work made my life a burden. You robbed me 
of one I loved ; and now you have wound your coils about 
another victim. 

Thornton. You are mistaken : I sought to keep him 
from temptation ; but he was reckless, and forsook me. 

Charity. Where is he now } 

Thornton. I know not; neither do I care. He robbed 
me ; and, were he found, I should give him up to justice. 

Charity. Staunch friend indeed ! He robbed you? I 
do not believe it. I have cause to mistrust you. I never 
dreamed you were the friend of Harry. But now I can see 
your wicked scheme. You have him in your power, but 
beware ! My mission is to save. {Goes tip r.) 

Thornton {coming to l.). Too late, too late. I do not 
fear you. 

Maynard {outside, R.). Say no more : I will not seek 
him. {Enter jFroni house, followed by Mrs. Maynard.) 

Mrs. Maynard. O John, don't say that! He is our 
only boy. 

Maynard. He has disgraced the name of Maynard. I 
will not seek, I will never allow him to cross my threshold. 
He went out a man : he shall never return a brute. {Enter 
Capt. Bragg, r., through gate.) 

Capt. Now, done yer say that, Maynard (hie). It's dis- 
grace-ful to drink. I mean to get full. I never got full. I 
can drink a gallon, an' walk straight, I can (hie). But I'm a 
Bragg. I'm Cap'en Bragg of the Horse Marines ; no, the 



PAST REDEMPTION. 



29 



ill-ill-lus'rus Lawless Rangers, every man — full — full — 
six — Now look a' here, look a' me, if your son's gone 
to the dogs, don't you give him up. Look a' me. I'm 
Bragg. I had a son : you know him : went off twenty years 
ago. Do I give him up ? Not a bit of it (hie). He'll come 
back one of these days, rolling in his carriage ; I mean in 
wealth. But then, he's a Bragg. We can't all be Braggs. 
Come, le's go down, and hunt him up. I know all the places. 

Maynard. Not a step will I stir. {Enter Jessie, l.) 
He has made his bed : let him sleep in it. He shall not dis- 
grace my house with his presence. 

Jessie {runs to him ^ falls on her knees). No, no, father: 
don't say that. You will not cast him off. Think what a 
kind son he was : how he loved us aU. You will try to save 
him, father ! Don't say you will not ; my heart will break. 

Maynard. Jessie, you know not how low he has fallen. 
My son of whom I was so proud ! He has disgraced 
his home. Henceforth he is no longer son of mine.- I will 
not seek him. I have said it, Jessie, and John Maynard 
never breaks his word. 

Jessie {crosses to Mr. Thornton). O Mr. Thornton ! 
you will seek him : you will save him for my sake .'* 

Thornton. He is past redemption. 'Twere useless. 

Jessie. Then I will go in search of him. 

Maynard. You, Jessie } 

Jessie. Yes, L He saved me, when a babe, from the 
pitiless storm ; now I will seek him. 

Thornton. This is folly. He lurks with the vile and 
worthless, in dens of filth and vice. Who will lead you there 1 

Charity {comes down c). I will. 

Jessie {rises and rtms ifitaher arms). O Aunt Charity ! 
, Charity. Yes, L When man shrinks from the work 
of salvation, let woman take his place. Look up, child ! 
Foul treachery has insnared him. From the toils of the 
false friend, from the crafty arts of the boldest of schem- 
ers, we will snatch him : from the depths of despair, we will 
save him. Past redemption, Robert Thornton? False! 
While there is life, there is hope ! 

(Charity with her arms about Jessie, c. Thornton, 
L. ; Capt. Bragg, L. c. ; Maynard, r. c. ; Mrs. May- 
nard, R. Tom a?td Kitty come on r., and stand behind 
fence., lookifig on, quietly.) 



ACT III.^— Charity's Quest. 

Scene. — A71 elegant drinking-saloo7i. In Jlat, R. aftd l., 
arched doorways, with steps leadmg tip afid off R. and l. ; 
between these a mirrored door, closed, opening to L., and 
showing, when open, steps leading up over archway, 
L. Over arch the flat is painted on gauze for illumina- 
tion. Three steps leading up to door, c, being a part of 
the steps that lead offK. aftd l. ; the whole flat haitdso7nely 
gilded. Bar rtinning up and down stage, R. ; behittd bar, 
a handsotne side-board, with decanters, glasses, and the 
usual paraphernalia of a bar-roo7n. Table, l. c, with 
two chairs ; L. of table a lotmge, on which Tom Larcom 
is stretched, appare7ttly asleep. Thornton r., attd MuR- 
DOCK L. of table, seated^ bottle and glasses before the7n. 
Daley behitid bar, attd two ge7itle77ien, well dressed, 
standing befo7-e it, dri7iki7ig. After Thornton speaks 
they exit R., up steps. 

Murdock. Thornton, you 'have a princely way of doing 
thino^s, and the luck of the evil one himself. 

Thornton. Shrewdness, old fellow. I'm an old hand 
at this sort of business, and glitter and dash go a long way 
in sharpening the appetites of one's customers. 

Murdock. There's something more than glitter about 
this wine. 

Thornton. The wine is good, and costly too. Of 
course, I do not set this before everybody, or the profits 
would hardly come up to my expectation. I ^ never throw 
pearls before swine. Home-made wares pay tlie best profit. 

Murdock. Ah ! you do a little in the way of doctoring .? 

Thornton. A great deal, Murdock. I have a very 
30 



PAST REDEMPTION. 3 1 

good dispensary close at hand, and Maynard has made him- 
self decidedly useful in that branch. 

MuRDOCK. Maynard ? is that miserable sot of any use 
to you now ? 

Thornton. Oh, yes ! I alone can control him. Poor 
devil ! he's breaking up fast. It's a pity such a likely young 
fellow could not let rum alone ; but he would drink, and 
will until the end comes. 'Twill not be long. 

MuRDOCK. Where do you keep him } I've not seen him 
about to-night. 

Thornton. Close by, but out of sight. Some of his 
friends, a few months ago, made a demonstration towards 
his rescue from the pit into which he had fallen. I believe 
they are now searching high and low for him. 

MuRDOCK. An idle task, while he is in your clutches. 

Thornton. You're right, Murdock : he stood between me 
and the dearest wish of my life. Meddling fools thwarted 
me in that; and now, from sheer revenge, I'll hold him 
from them all. 

Murdock. I'd rather have you for a friend than an 
enemy. {Rising.) Good-night. I must look after my own 
humble quarters. Ah ! if I could only have your dash ! 

Thornton. There's money in it, Murdock. {Rises.) 

Murdock. I believe you : good-night. 

Thornton. Good-night: drop in again. (Murdock 
goes up and off R., up steps) Daley, who's that on the 
lounge ? 

Daley {comes from behind bar). I don't know him : he 
dropped in an hour ago, took a drink, and rolled on to the 
lounge. 

Thornton. Well, rouse him up, and get him out :, that 
don't look respectable. {Goes behind bar, and looks about.) 

Daley {goes to Tom, a?id shakes hint). Come, friend, 
rouse up. {Another shake.) Do you hear ? rouse up ! 

Tom {slowly rises and looks at him). Rouse up ? wha's 
that (hie) ? No, le's fill up ; that's besser (hie). 

Daley {shaking him). Well, get up ; you're in the way. 

Tom {sitting up, and looking at hitn). Say, wha's (hic) 
yer name ? 

Daley. My name's Daley. 

Tom. Daily (hic) what ? Times ? Oh, I know : you're a 
(hic) newsboy (hic), you are. Don't want no papers. {At- 
tentpts to lie down again) 



32 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Daley. Come, come, this won't do. Get up, I say ! 

Tom. I always take (hie) my breakfast in bed. 

Daley. You'll take yourself out of this ! {Gets him o?t 
to his feet.) 

Tom. Wh- (hie) what you say, Mister Times ? Say (hie), 
le's drink ! 

Daley. No : it's time you were home. 

Tom. Home (hie) ? wha's that ? Fools a (hie) to this ? 
{Staggers across, and clutches bar.) I'm goin' t'stay (hie) 
here forever and always (hie), forever. 

Thornton. Oh, get him out, Daley ! 

Tom. Yes, get me out. Daily, for (hie) exercise. Take 
the air (hie). Air's good ; le's have some sugar (hie) in mine. 
(Gets down, R. ; aside, sobered.') So he's here, — May- 
nard is here. I've run the fox to earth at last. {As before.) 
Fetch on the drinks, D-Daily (hie) and a little oftener. 

Daley. Here's your hat.; come. This way, this way. 
{Leads him up to steps, r.) 

Tom {at steps, turns round). Hole on a minute, D-Dai- 
(hic) ly; give us your hand, D-Daily. I'll be back soon 

gic), an' we'll never (hie), never (hie) part any more (hie), 
ood mornin', D-D-aily (hie), good morn. {Exit tip steps. 
Thornton comes down to table, l. ; Daley takes bottles 
and glasses from table and goes behind bar. Two gejitlemeti 
enter, r., drink, and go ojf.) 

Thornton {sits at table). The luck of the evil one ! 
Murdock is but half right. The loss of that girl is a stroke 
of ill-fortune that imbitters all my prosperity. Get your 
supper, Daley ; I'll look after the bar. (Daley exits, r., up 
steps.) But for the interference of Charity Goodall, she 
would have been mine. They have not found the missing 
Maynard yet. I have him safe : he cannot escape me. 
{Soft music. The mirrored door, between entrances in flats, 
slowly opens, and Harry Maynard, shrinking and trem- 
bling, with feeble steps, comes down, closing the door behifid 
him. He creeps down to Thornton's chair.) 

Harry. Thornton, Thornton ! 

Thornton {ti^rns with a start). You here ? ' 

Harry {trembling). Yes, yes ; don't be fierce, don't. It 
is so dark and dismal' up there ! and the rats — oh, such 
rats ! — glare at me from their holes. I couldn't stay. Don't 
send me back: I'll be very quiet. I'm sober too. Not a 
drop for two days : not a drop. 

Thornton. What's the matter with you now 1 



PAST REDEMPTION. 



33 



Harry. Oh ! nothing, nothing : only I wanted to be so- 
ciable {fries to smile\ — as sociable as you and I were in 
the old times. 

Thornton. Sociable ! you and I ! Bah ! you're shaking 
like an aspen. -What friendship can there be between me 
and a miserable sot like you } 

Harry. Yes, I know I'm not the man I used to be : I 
know it. Oh, the thought of that other life I lived once, 
tortures me almost to madness ! 

Thornton. Well, why don't you go back to it ? 

Harry. Back .? back to that old home among the hills 
from which I came, full of lusty manhood ? Back to the 
old man who looked upon me with all a father's pride ? the 
dear mother whose darhng I was 1 the fair, young girl 
whose heart I broke ? Back there, with tottering steps, a 
pitiful wreck, to die upon the threshold of the dear old 
home } No, no : not that, not that ! 

Thornton. Then be quiet. You have brought ruia, 
upon yourself : you can't complain of me. 

Harry. No, I don't complain. It was a fair picture of 
fame and fortune you laid before me ; and when I found the 
honorable mercantile business, in which you had amassed 
wealth, was work like this, I should have turned back. 

Thornton. I told you to keep a clear head and a steady 
hand ; to sell^ not poison yourself with my liquid wares. 

Harry. Yet you placed pleasures before me that turned 
my head, and — 

Thornton. They never turned mine. You were a fool, 
and fell. 

Harry. Ay, a fool ! Yes, your fool, Robert Thornton. 
I quaffed the ruby wine, I flung myself into every indul- 
gence, because you led me. I must keep a cool head and a 
steady hand, with fire in my veins ! I feel I am condemned. 
Of my own free will, I flung away a life. I do not com- 
plain ; but, when we stand before the last tribunal. Heaven 
be the judge if your hands are unstained with my Hfe-blood, 
Robert Thornton. 

Thornton. Enough of this : back to your den. 

Harry. No, no, Thornton, not there ! I will be quiet, 
silent ; but do not, in mercy, do not drive me back there ! 

Thornton. Poor devil ! Well, stay here : look after 
the bar until Daley returns. {Aside, going L.) He can't 
resist : he'll make a dive for the brandy, and forget. Two 



34 PAST REDEMPTION. 

days without it : I should not have allowed that. {Exit L., 

I.E.) 

Harry. Stay here ! No, no, he has given me a chance 
for freedom. The doors are open : a dash, and I am free. 
Free for what .'* To die in the gutter. I could drag myself 
no farther ; and who would look with compassion on such a 
ragged, bloated wretch as I ? No, no : I have sold myself, 
body and soul, to this accursed life. {Staggers to bar) Let 
rae get at the brandy ; that, at least, will bring freedom, — 
freedom from this maddening thirst, these horrible fears 
that drive me mad. {Staggers behind bar.) Ah, here, here ! 
{Seizes decaliter) The balm for bitter memories. Stop, 
stop ! That vision in the night, — Jessie, with her warning 
finger : and the old melody I loved so well rang in my ears. 
I vowed I'd drink no more, though I should die of madness. 
{Buries his face in his arms upon the bar. Enter R., down 
steps, Capt. Bragg.) 

Capt. Found a new place. {Looking about) Superb — 
gorgeous — dazzling ! Here's juiciness ! Just my idea of a 
palace. The man who figured this place no doubt beheves 
his plan original. Absurd ! I planned it years ago. Bragg's 
plan stolen ! Fact, by jingo ! {Raps on bar) Come, 
young man, business, business. (Harry raises his head : 
Bragg staggers back) Harry Maynard, or Pm no Bragg ! 
{Comes to bar, and offers his hand) Harry, 'young fellow, 
how are you .'* {}^krky falls back, and glares at him) Don't 
know me, hey.'* Why, I'm Bragg, Capt. Bragg, your dis- 
tinguished townsman ; Bragg of the Rangers ; every man 
a sharpshooter, and their commander — well, modesty for- 
bids my mentioning him in fitting panegyrics. Why, how 
you stare ! You don't look well. 

Harry. I don't know you. 

Capt. Won't do, my boy, won't do. You may be able 
to bluff common folks, but I'm Bragg ; Bragg of the judi- 
cial brow, Bragg of the penetrating eye : it's a keen one, and, 
when I fixed that detective's orb upon you, I said. There's 
my man ! Why, they've fitted out an exploring party for 
the purpose of hunting you up, — Mrs. Charity Goodall, 
Jessie, Tom Larcom, and that black imp Stub. They've 
scoured the city in vain. They didn't ask my help, and I 
am the keen-eyed volunteer that never misses his mark. I 
have found you. Oh, here's glory, for Bragg's outwitted 
'em all ! I knew I should : Bragg never fails, never ; and 



PAST REDEMPTION. 35 

now I've got you, you can't escape me. Come, come, don't 
glare like a madman. What will I have ? Brandy, of 
course ! (Harry sets decanter and glass before him.) They 
made a mistake : when there's any detective business to be ■ 
done, call a Bragg. He can see farther and run faster than 
the sharpest of "'em. Fact, by jingo. {Pours liquor into 
glass.) Ah, that's my style ! {Raises glass.) Here's to the 
glorious Rangers, Bragg's own ! 

Harry {excitedly). Stop ! don't drink that. See, there's 
a snake twisting and turning about in the glass. Stop, or 
you are a dead man ! 

Capt. {sets dow7t glass, and staggers back). Jersey light- 
ning ! 

Harry {glaring). See, it's raising its head, — it will 
strike deep and sure : and there's another, and another. 
Look, they are crawling about the decanter : now they drop 
upon the bar : they are upon you : tear them off, teai* 
them off ! They strike and kill, strike and kill ! 

Capt. He's raving mad. I wish I was well out of this. 

Harry. Thicker and thicker, faster and faster, they 
come upon the bar. See them glare at me ! Back, back ! 
{Dashes his hands upon bar.) Ah, they coil about my 
arms. Away, away ! {Attempts to tear them off) They 
crawl about me : they are at my throat. Help, help, help ! 
{Runs into c, and falls upon floor.) 

Capt. He's got 'em bad. {Runs to entrance., r.) Fight 
'em, young man, fight 'em : it's your only chance. I guess 
I won't drink : can't stop. {Runs up and off, r.) 

Harry {raises his head). Gone, gone at last with him. 
I've driven them off again ; but they will come again. 
What's that ? {Glares into corner, L.) Rats again : fierce 
and big ! how they look at me ! Away ! Gleaming teeth 
and eyes of fire ! Away, I say ! I cannot drive them back. 
They swarm about me : they're at my legs. {Tears them 
off.) Devils, I'll fight you all ! Closer and closer ! {Gets to 
his feet.) They're making for my throat : away, I say ! 
{Tears them fro7n his breast) I cannot, cannot. Now 
they're at my throat ! {Hands at his throat.) Off, devils ; 
off, I say ! Help, help ! oh, help ! {Falls quivering upon 
the stage. Enter Thornton, l.) 

Thornton. What's this, Maynard ? Maynard, I say ! 
{Drags him to his feet) 

Harry {clinging to Thornton). Don't let them get at 



36 PAST REDEMPTION. 

me : there's a thousand of them thirsting for my Hfe. Save 
me from them ! 

Thornton. Oh, you've been dreaming ! you're all right 
now. Come, get to bed : you'll sleep it off. Up above 
you're safe enough. {Drags hiin up stage.) 

Harry. Not there, not there, Thornton. Don't thrust 
me into that hole to-night. They're up there, lurking in 
corners, waiting to eat me. Don't, Thornton, don't ! 

Thornton {struggling with hiiii). Fool, do as I bid you ! 
{Throws open mirrored door. Stub co7nes down steps ^ l., 
atid watches them^ 

Harry. Not to-night, Thornton, not to-night ! (Thorn- 
ton ptishes him in, closes door, ajid locks it. Stub comes 
down softly, and sits l. of table.) 

Thornton. He's safe there. I shouldn't wonder if 
this night rid me of him. 

Stub {aside). Shouldn't wonder a bit. {Raps on table^ 
Here, bar-keeper, innholder, porter, bootblack, somebody or 
an3^body, am a genblem gwine to wait all night .'' am he, 
say, somebody .'' 

Thornton. Jfallo ! who are you ? 

Stub. Hallo, yourself : a genblem widout extinction ob 
color. Hop beer and peppermint for one. Be hbely, be 
libely ! 

Thornton. We don't serve niggers here. 

Stub. Wh-wh-what dat ? Wha's yer ignorance ? wha's 
yer ignorance ? Take keer, take keer : five hundred dollars 
fine ! Cibil rights bill : dat's me. You can't fool dis 
yer citizen widout extinction ob color : no, sir. {Raps on 
table.) Ginger ale and sassaparilla for one. Be libely ! 

Thornton. Take yourself off : you cannot be served 
here. 

Stub. Take keer, take keer ; don't debate my choler : 
don't rouse de slumbrin' African lion ; ef yer does, down 
goes de whole hippodrome. Don't cibil rights bill say, don't 
he, ebery citizen, widout extinction ob color, am entitled to all 
de privileges ob trabel, — de smokeolotive, steamboat, and 
— and horse cars : an' to be taken in to all de inns, an' giben 
all de freedom, — free lunch, free drinks, an' five hundred 
dollars out ob de pocket ob any man dat says. Dry up ? 
Dat's de law, mind yer eye. {Raps on tabled} Soda and 
sassafras. Be libely, be libely ! 

Thornton {takes a revolver from his pocket). Will you 
have my pocket flask .'* 



PAST REDEMPTION. 37 

Stub. O Lor ! {Slides under table.) Dat ain't de kind : 
put 'im up, put 'im up ! Ain't dry : guess I won't drink. 

Thornton. Out of this, or you'll get a taste of civil 
rights that will teach you better manners. 

Stub. I's gwine : don't want no manners. {Creeps ojit, 
a?id goes up stage. Enter Charity Goodall, r., down 
steps., e7tv eloped in a waterproof cloak : she comes down c.) 

Thornton. What want you here ? Who are you ? 

Charity {exte?iding her hand). Charity. 

Thornton {turning to table^ and laying down pistol). 
Away : you'll get nothing here ! 

Charity {throws off cloak). Don't be too sure of that, 
Robert Thornton. 

Thornton {ttirns quickly). Charity Goodall ! (Stub 
comes down softly., takes pistol., goes up., crosses stage., and 
hides behind bar.) I beg your pardon, Mrs. Goodall. This 
is indeed a surprise ! 

Charity. And yet you have been expecting me ; dread- 
ing the hour when you and I should meet face to face. 

Thornton. This is hardly the place for a woman who 
would guard her good name from scandal. 

Charity. You forget I am a woman above suspicion : 
that I have won a good name, by daring to enter such dens 
as yours, on errands of mercy. 

Thornton. Ah ! indeed ! what errand of mercy brings 
the saintly Charity Goodall into my humble saloon 1 

Charity. Ah, you confess ownership ! The spider of 
the gilded web ! You, who, under the guise of a gentle- 
man, lured my husband from an honorable life : you, who, 
with flattering promises of honorable wealth, tricked a brave 
lad to his ruin. Your humble saloon ! You sneer, and yet 
you tremble. Confess all : confess you are a villain and a 
cheat ! 

Thornton. I will not listen to you. Be warned in time : 
at any moment, a rude throng may burst upon you. You are 
liable to insult from which I could not protect you. 

Charity. Fear not for me : my mission is my protec- 
tion. Alone, I have walked into the worst dens, without 
fear, without insult. With the most abandoned, no hand is 
raised against one who comes to rescue and dehver. Rob- 
ert Thornton, listen to me : day and night I have sought, 
with ready helpers, Harry Maynard. To-night' I have 
tracked him here. 



38 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Thornton. Here ? 

Charity. Ay, here ! You threw me from the scent 
with your story of his utter degradation. I never dreamed 
the silly fly was ensnared in the gilded web. Give him back 
to the friends who mourn for him, and, spite my wrongs, 
all shall be forgotten. 

Thornton. You ask too much : you see he is not here. 
You have been misinformed : for once the shrewd angel 
of mercy has been deceived. 

Charity. Indeed ! Perhaps another may be more suc- 
cessful — Jessie ! [Enter fro?n r., hurriedly, Jessie.) 

Jessie. Have you found him } Speak ! in mercy, speak ! 

Charity {putting her artn about Jessie). Be calm, my 
child : there is the man who holds him in his power, — 
Robert Thornton. 

Jessie. Mr. Thornton ? No, no, it cannot be ! {Falls on 
her knees to him.) If you know where he is, if you can 
give him back to his father, to me, I will bless you. 

Thornton. You are mistaken, Jessie ; I cannot give him 
back. You know how much I loved him. Think you, if it 
were in my power, I would refuse the request of the only 
woman I truly loved .? 

Jessie. Oh, this is mockery ! {Rises, and goes to Char- 
ity, who folds her in her arms.) 

Charity. Poor child, your prayers are vain : that man 
is pitiless ! 

Thornton. I told you you had been deceived. Was I 
not right .? You tracked him here, and yet you cannot find 
him. See how your well-laid plan has failed ! 

Charity. No ; for I have one resource left, one taught 
me by the noble women of the West. You fear for my good 
name : do you fear for those who come to my aid with the 
song he loved ? Pray heaven it reach the prisoner's ear ! 
{Raises her hand. Chorus outside : — 

" In the sweet by and by, 
We will meet on that beautiful shore," &c. 

Enter, singing, from R. and l. down steps, filling the steps, 
a chorus of wonieii, well dressed, in light costumes j they 
stop 7ipon the steps) 

Harry {above when the song ceases.) Help, help ! save, 
oh, save me ! 



PAST REDEMPTION. 39 

Jessie. His voice, Harry's voice ! {Kneels to Thorn- 
ton.) Man, now, if you have a spark of pity, lead me to 
him ! 

Charity. Robert Thornton, be merciful ! 

Thornton. You plead in vain : he is beyond your 
reach. 

Stub {rising, behind bar). Dat's a lie, dat's a lie ! {Runs 
Mp to door, c, a7id throws it open) Quick, Miss Jessie : 
he's up dar. Go fur him, go fur him ! {Steps l.) 

Jessie. O Harry, Harry ! {Runs up steps, and exits 
through door.) 

Thornton. Curse that fool : you must not enter there ! 
{Goes towards door. Charity rzcns up, closes door, and 
stands zuith back to it.) 

Charity. Back ! you shall not enter here. 

Thornton. Woman, stand back : who shall prevent me ? 
(Stub steps before Charity, and presents pistol to Thorn- 
ton.) 

Stub. Cibil rights bill : dat's me. (Tom runs in from 
R. steps, and seizes Thornton's ar7ns, binding them back) 

Tom. Ha, ha ! shrewdness, old fellow ! 

{Lime light thrown on fro7n L., above archway, showing 
Maynard extended on a low couch, resting on his right 
arm : dark pants, white shirt. Jessie has her arm about 
him, supporting him). 

Jessie. Harry, my own Harry, found at last ! 

Harry. Jessie, Jessie, thank Heaven for this ! {Chorus : 

" In the sweet by and by," &c. 
Repeated. Slow curtain) 



ACT IV. — Thanksgiving at the Old Home. 

Scene. — Interior of John Maynard's house. In fiat^ 
R. c, bow-window, backed by road atid trees, white with 
snow; snow falling; door L. Open fire-place, 'K., with 
bright fire ; beside it, a high-backed seat for two ; bzireau 
between door and window, in fiat. Mantle over the fire- 
place, with dried grasses ifi vases, clock, and other orna- 
ments. Arm-chair L. ; chair back of that. Door R. u. E. ; 
door L., 7.d entrance. Mrs. Maynard discovered at win- 
dow^ looking out. 

Mrs. Maynard. The snow comes faster and faster. 
It's time Stub was back from the depot with Charity. Ah, 
'twill be a dull Thanksgiving for us this year: not like the 
old times when we had Charley, Harry, and Jessie, to make 
us all merry. Dear me ! time does break up households. 
{E filer John from door L.) 

John. I've put him on Harry's bed, mother. I expect 
you'll scold when you see your white counterpane muddied 
by his boots, for I couldn't get him beneath it. Poor devil ! 
I fear 'twill be his deathbed. I'd about made up my mind 
that I'd nevfer give another tramp shelter ; but he looked so 
bad, I hadn't the heart to turn him away (sits on bench) 
when I thought, mother, that our poor boy might have 
come in the same way. 

Mrs. Maynard {comes dow?i). That's so like you, John ! 
Is he very bad ? 

John. Yes : . broken down with hunger and drink. He 
begged hard for a little brandy. It was well I had none, for 
'twould have been cruel to refuse him, and I would die ere I 
touched the curse, the cause of so much misery to us. 
40 



PAST REDEMPTION. 41 

Mrs. Maynard. Ah, John, all that's over. 

John. Yes, mother, we must hope for the best. He 
was saved, thanks to Charity : but still I fear for him. 
'Twill be a day to remember, when we have him back. 

Mrs. Maynard. A long, long year since Charity found 
him, and no word or sign from our loved one. 

John. Ah, mother, I hke that : I was uncharitable, — I, 
who have been so bitter against others who turned their 
faces from the fallen. But I'm proud of hi7n. "Tell 
father," he said to Charity, " tell him I will never cross his 
threshold till I can return as I went, — a man." That's so 
hke a Maynard ! that's the true grit : I like that. 

Mrs. Maynard. And Charity will give us no news of 
him. 

John. No: she shakes her head. "Give him time, give him 
time : " but she smiles when she says it ; and, when Charity 
smiles, you can depend upon it all's going well. We must 
trust her, mother. So we have two more faces in the fire, 
Harry's and Jessie's. {Sleigh-bells heard without) Ah ! 
there she is, there she is ! {Goes to witidow.) No, it's Tom 
and Kitty with the baby. Why, mother, they've brought 
the baby : here's a surprise for you. 

Tom {outside). Whoa, I tell you ! Give me the baby, 
Kitty : that's all right. Now come along, come along. 
{Enters door in fiat, with a baby 'well butidled in his 
arms) 

John. Tom, glad to see you : this is hearty. Come to 
the fire ; and, Kitty, give us a smack. {Kisses Kitty.) 

Tom. Hallo ! easy there ; but I suppose it's all right. 

John. Right ? of course 'tis. Now give me the baby. 

Tom. To serve in the same style? No, I thank you; 
it's a tenderer bit than Kitty. 

Kitty. Tom, don't be silly ! 

Mrs. MayjIard. I'll take him, Tom, the little darling. 
{Takes baby.) 

Tom {reluctantly giving it up). Certainly, only handle 
him gently : I'm terribly anxious. 

Mrs. Maynard {sits on settle. John helps Kitty off 
with her things). Oh, you httle beauty ! 

Tom {lea?is on mantle, back, and watches her). The pic- 
ture of his daddy : that's what they all say. Is his nose all 
right .^ Ain't much of it, but, if the frost got at it, good-by 
nose. Take care ! Oh, Lord, I thought you had dropped 



42 PAST REDEMPTION. 

him. Hey, Johnny, look up : he's a smart one for a three- 
months' older. Hadn't I better take him ? 

Kitty. Tom, do you suppose Mrs. Maynard don't know 
how to handle a baby ? 

Tom. Well, I don't know, Kitty ; they break awful easy. 
You just keep your eye on him until I put up the horse. 
{Going; returns) Does he look all right, Mrs. Maynard ? 

Mrs. Maynard. Right ! don't you see he's wide awake ? 

Tom. Yes : but hadn't he ought to be asleep ? 

Kitty. Tom, do go and put up your horse. I never saw 
such a goose ; when he's awake, you think he should be 
asleep, and when he's asleep you want to wake him. 

Tom. Parental anxiety. You see, Mrs. Maynard, this is 
something new to me. 

Kitty. Well, isn't it new to all of us ? Do go along ! 

Tom. I'm off. {Exit door injlat.) 

Kitty. Such a plague ! 

John. Ah, Kitty, not satisfied ! You regret not having 
taken the other, Nat Harlow. 

Kitty. No, indeed. Tom's the best husband in the 
world. I've not heard a cross word from him the whole year 
since we've been married ; but he does make such a fuss 
about baby ! Sha'n't I take him, Mrs. Maynard } 

John. Oh, ho ! somebody else makes a fuss too. {Sleigh- 
bells heard.) Ah, here's Charity at last. 

Charity {outside). Drive to the barn. Stub ; I'll jump 
out. {Enters door ijifiat) Here I am, you dear old John. 
{Shakes hands ^ and kisses John.) 

John. Welcome, Charity ; a thousand times welcome ! 

Charity. I knew you'd be glad to see me. {Runs to 
Mrs. Maynard, aiid kisses her) You dear, dear old 
Hannah ! 

Mrs. Maynard. Ah, Charity, you always bring sun- 
light with you. 

Charity. A baby ! bless me ! Oh ! it's yours, Kitty. 
That for you {kisses he?'), and this for the baby. {Kisses 
baby.) 

Kitty. Young as ever, Mrs. Goodall. Come, Mrs. May- 
nard, let me carry the baby off to bed.- Don't move: I 
know the way. ( Takes baby, and exits r. u. e.) 

John. Now, Charity, our boy — 

Mrs. Maynard. Yes, Harry ! What news? 

Charity. Dear me ! do let me get my things off. {Re- 



PAST REDEMPTION. 43 

moves cloak and hat. Mrs. Maynard takes them, and car- 
?-ies the7jt off R. u. E. Charity sits, and looks into Jire.) 
What a glorious blaze ! (John leans on back of bench.) Ah, 
John, I've often envied you your quiet evenings here, with 
this for company ; often seen you and Hannah sitting here 
together, taking so much comfort. {Enter Mrs. Maynard, 
R. u. E., and leans on bench, between Charity and the fire.) 

Mrs. Maynard. O Charity ! tell us of our boy. 

John. Yes, yes. Charity, be merciful : what of him .? 

Charity {rises ajid comes l.). Oh, do be patient ! I've 
a strange fancy to see how you look there in the old seat. 
Come, take your places, and tell me what you see there. 
(John sits with Mrs. Maynard o?i bench, she next the fire; 
he takes her hand.) That's nice. {Goes to back of bench.) 
Now, tell me, what see you there 1 {Enter Stub, door in 
flat, excitedly^ 

Stub. I've put 'em up, Miss Charity, an' — an' — 

Charity. Silence, Stub ! {He comes down l.) 

Stub {aside). Dat's de quarest woman eber I see : ben 
in de house five minutes, an' not tole de news. 

Charity. Well, John, I'm waiting. 

John. There, Charity, is my picture-gallery of old mem- 
ories, that both sadden and cheer waiting and aching hearts. 
What do I see ? {Looking into fire.) The face of my brave 
soldier boy : the face that has glowed upon us in its noble 
manhood for many, many years. 

Charlty. The face of a hero, John : there are no bitter 
memories there. He died bravely : passed into the better 
hfe with the grand army of martyrs, crowned with glory. 

Stub. Yas indeed, dead an' gone, Massa Cap'n : God 
bless him ! Miss Charity, am you gwine to tell — 

Charity. Be silent ! (Stub goes l., shakijig his head.) 

Stub. I shall bust it out : I can't help it. 

Charity. Well, brother John. 

John. Another, a younger face. Now I see it with the 
glow of health upon the cheeks, the eye bright and laugh- 
ing, as I have seen it come and go before me in the old days. 
And now — 'tis pale and haggard: the eyes are bloodshot. 
O Charity, the face that has haunted my sleep ! I have 
tried to shut it out ; but it comes before me with a look full 
of reproach. Oh had I but been merciful, all this might not 
have been ! 

Charity. And yet that, too, is the face of a hero. 

Stub. Oh ! why don't she tell 'em ? 



44 PAST REDEMPTION. 

Charity. Go on, John : look once more. 

John. Once more : the face of a fair, bright girl, who 
won her way to my heart. I never knew how much I loved, 
until I lost her. She left me, nobly left me : I had no right 
to stay her. Will she come back. Charity .'* will she ? 

Stub. Why, don't you know — 

Charity. Silence, Stub ! Now, brother John, let me 
tell you what I see there. I see the face of that same brave, 
true girl, in all its beauty : the girl who forsook home and 
friends, with the brave wish in her heart to save her lover 
from destruction. I see her gladly embracing a life of hard, 
grinding poverty, cheering the fainting spirit of a broken 
man, guarding and guiding him through the dark valley of 
remorse, until he stands alone, strong, resolute, determined. 

John. Jessie, our Jessie : well, well, go on. 

Charity. I see her with the rich glow of health again 
mantUng her cheeks : I hear the ringing laugh of the happy 
girl again : I see her returning to her father's house {enter 
Jessie, door in flat), a proud, true, happy wife ! 

Jessie {running down to John). Here, here again : dear, 
dear father ! 

John {rising, and taki7tg her in his arms). Jessie, my 
darling, a thousand and a thousand times welcome ! 

Jessie. Dear, dear mother, your child has returned to 
you. 

Mrs. Maynard {takes her in her arms). O Jessie, Jessie, 
welcome ! do you come alone .'* 

Charity. Be patient! sit you down and listen. {They 
sit again, Jessie kneeling between Mrs. Maynard and the 
flre.) 

Stub. Wh-wh-what all dis mean ? Ain't you gwine — 

Charity. Silence, Stub ! I see another face, — the face 
of the young man who went forth to light the battle of 
temptation. I see him strugghng : I see friends around 
him : I see one with a true, loving heart, clinging to him 
through good and evil report : see him lighting vahantly in 
the distant West : see the freshness of renewed life in 
his ruddy cheek, until, his foe beneath his feet, he comes 
back to his old home. {Enter Harry, door in flat.) 

John {rushing down r.). I see it all. Charity : my boy 
has come home. Where, oh, where is he "i 

Harry. Here, father, here. 

John {turns). O Harry, Harry ! my dear, dear boy ! 
{Rushing into his ar?ns.) 



PAST REDEMPTION. 



45 



Stub. Hi, golly ! dat's de ticket, dat's de ticket ! 

Harry. Mother, have you no word for the truant ? 
■ Mrs. Maynard {embracing him). My heart is too full, 
Harry ! (Harry, c. ; Mrs. Maynard, r. c. ; Jessie, r. ; 
Mr. Maynard, l. c. ; Charity, l. ; Stub, extreme l.) 

Harry. Mother, father, of the bitter past — 

John. We'll not hear a word, Harry. We have you safe 
again : let the sorrows of the past be forgotten in the 
joy of the present. Mother, look at him ! what a frame, 
what a face ! Hang me, if I don't believe all this has been 
a joke ! 

Harry. Nay, father, in remembering the trials we "have 
passed, we gain new hope for the future. I am a free man, 
with a home of my own ; rich Western lands own me as 
master ; but I owe all to the dear girl who loved me, — the 
brave, noble woman who befriended me. Come here, little 
wife : let my parents see that the child they adopted is now 
theirs by right. {]'ESS>ie goes to him.) 

Jessie. Yes, father, we ran away and were married : will 
you forgive us ? 

John. Forgive you, puss ? it was Harry's salvation ! 
{Enter Tom, door injlat.) 

Tom. There, the horse is all right : now for the baby. 
Bless my soul, where's the baby '^ {Etiter Kitty, r. u. e.) 

Kitty. Asleep, Tom ; don't make such a noise ! 

Tom. Asleep ! he'll die of starvation. Here ! {Takes 
nursing-bottle from his pocket.) I forgot to leave his lun- 
cheon, 

Kitty {snatching bottle). Tom, I'm ashamed of you, 
before all these folks ! {They go up. Enter Capt, Bragg, 
door infiat^ 

Capt. Ah, Maynard, how are you? I just dropped in 
as I was going by. Why, bless my soul ! Harry Maynard, 
as fresh as a buttercup ! Why, how are you ? and Jessie 
too ! Well, this is glorious ! {Shakes hands) John, old 
friend, you're a lucky dog ! I thought the boy was about 
gone, the last time I saw him ; but he's come round all right. 
Ah ! I always told you to keep up a stout heart ! Look at 
me : I'm nearly seventy : my boy has been gone twenty 
years ; but I know he'll come back, — come back a hero, or 
a millionnaire : he couldn't help it ! he's a Bragg. He'll 
come back ! 

Thornton {o74tside, l.). Away ! away, you cannot reach 



46 PAST REDEMPTION. 

me : I defy you, I defy you ! {Rushes in L., and falls pros- 
trate at BRAGG'sy^^/.) 

Capt. {shrinki7ig back). Hallo, what's this ? 

Harry {runs to Thornton, aiid raises his head). Mer- 
ciful Heavens, 'tis Thornton! 

All. Thornton ! 

Thornton {feebly). Who said Thornton ? What, May- 
nard ! Maynard, you here ? 

Harry. O Thornton ! has it come to this ? 

Thornton. Yes, Maynard, I'm down: down deeper 
than I had you. There's no hope! Only a year, only a 
year ! I was cheated. I, who thought myself so shrewd 
and keen, in one night lost all, and took to drink. Oh, it's 
glorious to drown all trouble in the flowing bowl ! Ha, ha! 
but it gets you at last : it has me. I have begged, cheated, 
stolen, for a single draught. Give me a drink: a drop 
of brandy, only a drop to cool my burning throat ! 

Harry. You ask this of me, whom you so bitterly 
wronged ? 

Thornton. Yes, I did wrong you ; but I loved that 
girl as I loved bu* one other ! "Maynard, Maynard, hear 
me ! this one woman I wronged : she haunts me : she was 
my wife. I forsook her, cast her off. She came from your 
native town. Her name — her name was — Alice Clarke. 

John. Alice Clarke — Jessie's mother! 

Thornton. Jessie's mother ! No, no ; don't tell me 
that : don't make me a greater villain than I know myself to 
be. 

John. She died beneath my roof, giving her child to my 
keeping. 

Jessie. He is my father : stand back ! Harry, my place 
is here ! {Kneels^ and supports him.) 

Thornton {looks in her face). And I pursued you \vith a 
sinful love : brought him down to the very gates of death. 

Jessie. All is forgotten, all forgiven, father. 

Thornton. Take her awa}'', take her away : I can't bear 
her touch ! {Crawls down stage.) Her eyes glare at me ! 
There's the look of her dead mother in them. Oh, spare 
me, spare me ! 

Harry. O Thornton, Thornton, this is terrible ! 

Thornton. Thornton ! you're wrong. Call me by my 
rightful name : you must have heard it, — William Bragg, 

John. William Bragg ? 



PAST REDEMPTION. 47 

Capt. No, no ; it cannot be ! You, you my Bill ? Curse 
you : you stole that name ! That was my boy's, — a hand- 
some, noble fellow ! 

Thornton. I am your son ! 

Capt. It's a lie : you're a miserable wretch ! Think you 
a Brao^g would come home in such a plight ? I'll not believe 
it. {Looks at him^ then sinks on his knees, covers his face) 
It's false ! I can not, will not beheve it. 

Thornton. You must, you do, old man. You might 
have made me a better man ; but you nursed my vanity, and 
— well, well, it's all over now. I've dug my grave: let me 
rest in peace. 

Capt. {rising to his feet). No, no peace for you : you 
have disgraced my name. Die, die like a dog ! Why did 
you come back here to ruin me, to drag me down from my 
position, to make me a by-word and a scorn among my 
neighbors ? Why didn't you die in the gutters of your in- 
famous city ? But here, here ! Die, but take my — 

Charity {puts her Jiand on his shoulder). Pause ere you 
speak. He is dying ; he has sinned: leave his punishment 
to a higher Power. Here, where our hearts are warm with 
gratitude for a blessed deliverance, curse not, but forgive as 
we all hope to be forgiven ! 

Tableau. — With her left hand on his shoulder., Bragg 
slowly sinks to his knees j her other hand is pointed up. 
Thornton feebly raises his head, and follows her hajid. 
Harry sits in cjzair, l., with his arm about Jessie, who 
kneels at his side, looking at Thornton ; Stub extreme l. 
John Maynard with his wife stand r., 7.d entrance; 
Kitty on bench; Tom leaning on back of bench, looking at 
Thornton. Slow curtain; music: — 

" In the sweet by and by," &c. 



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